Wish I Didn't Know Now
by Evening-Ice
Summary: Sam and Dean are in Beacon Hills to visit family friends, Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski. But what happens when everyone's favorite creepy uncle shows up with an entire pack of angry wolves on his heels? Can Stiles protect his pack? Will he betray the men he's come to know as brothers? Will this friendly visit turn into a werewolf hunt? Read to find out!
1. What I Didn't Know Then

Stiles is overjoyed when he discovers that Sam and Dean coming for a visit. As a child, he was used to seeing the older pair often. They would sometimes stay with the Stilinski family when their father, John, went hunting, leading to a close relationship between the three boys despite the obvious age gaps. Sam and Dean were like family, and both Stiles and the Sheriff loved them to pieces. It had been too long since their last visit. Stiles couldn't wait to see them. That is, until he remembered what they did for a living.

It was Dean who explained what his father really did. John Winchester was expected to return soon, and when he didn't, Sam began to cry. Dean tried to comfort him, forcing Stiles to ask what exactly their father was hunting. At age four, he believed Dean. Years later, he decided the explanation was a coping mechanism to deal with their absentee father. That was before Scott got bitten by a werewolf.

Now, Stiles was furiously pacing in his room. Sam and Dean killed things that went bump in the night. It was like a career for them. What would happen if they found the pack? Was that why they were visiting in the first place? Had they come to hunt down the werewolves of Beacon Hills?

Stiles shook his head. He loved them, he really did, but he wasn't about to let them murder his friends. That was his other problem. Could he hide the pack from them? And if they found them, would Sam and Dean listen to him? Would they understand that the wolves hadn't hurt anyone? Or would they shoot first and ask questions later?


	2. I Sure Found Out Too Much to Stay

For three hours he alternated between pacing, flopping onto his bed, and clutching his head. Sam and Dean were expected to arrive late that night. He wasn't ready to face them, and he knew that any wolves in the area could probably sense his anxiety. Stiles didn't want to deal with them either though. He needed time to figure out what to do. Unfortunately, he didn't get his wish.

Stiles turned around just in time to see Scott climbing through his window. His best friend's eyebrows pinched together and his mouth was set in a hard line. Stiles let his head fall back into the bed.

"You're supposed to tell someone when something is wrong, Stiles, not stay in your room pacing," Scott scolded. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Nothing is wrong."

"Stiles, we could smell you a mile away. Tell me what's going on." Stiles sat up.

"Sam and Dean are coming to visit." Scott grinned at him.

"Really? Well what's so bad about that? How long has it been since you last saw them?"

"Gosh, I haven't seen them since before Sam left for college," Stiles said, a smile smile creeping onto his face.

"Then what's the problem?" The smile disappeared abruptly.

"Did I ever tell you about what they do for a living?" Scott tilted his head, which inadvertently reminded Stiles of a puppy.

"No... Why?"

"They kill supernatural creatures, Scott. If they find out about you, they will want to hunt you." Scott's eyes went wide and his mouth clacked open and closed for a few seconds.

"Why would they want to hunt me? Couldn't you explain that we're good? They would listen to you, right? Stiles? Stiles?!"

"I don't know if they would or not! I know they care about my opinion, but I don't know if I could convince them not to hurt you! This is what they do, Scott. They protect people!"

"Who said they need to protect people from us?"

"You're werewolves, Scott! Most werewolves probably aren't friendly!" Stiles snapped, leaping out of bed. Scott jerked backwards, glaring at him.

"That doesn't mean they have any right to hunt us down," he murmured.

"Well of course not, I'm just trying to say that they don't understand that you guys are different."

"And do you?"

"What kind of question is that, Scott?"

"Answer it." Stiles stepped forward, placing his left hand on Scott's shoulder and his right over his heart.

"I do. Now can you stop freaking out and help me?"


	3. Stop All This Foolish Wishing

Now that they had cleared up where certain loyalties laid, the pair sat together on the floor by Stiles' bed, pressed against each other from shoulder to toe.

"What are we going to do?" Stiles asked, turning to look at Scott.

"We need to tell the pack. They won't know to hide themselves if they don't know there are hunters in town," Scott replied.

"When?"

"I'll tell them tonight. You can tell them what you know tomorr-" Scott tensed suddenly, falling silent.

"Scott? What's wrong?" Stiles asked, scrambling to his feet.

"They're here," he murmured.

"You should probably go."

"They parked by the window."

"Stiles, they're here!" a voice called from downstairs.

"That's my dad," Stiles said. "I have to go."

"I'll come with you," Scott said. Stiles put his hands on his hips.

"Scott."

"What? I just want to get a feel for the guys. Let the pack know what they're like, you know?"

"Fine, but don't let anyone come here tonight. It won't exactly be easy to hide with hunters sleeping in the next room."

"We've kept ourselves hidden from a sheriff for three years."

"Not the same thing."

The sheriff didn't even react when he saw Stiles and Scott stumbling down the stairs. The man next to him, on the other hand, broke out in a wild grin.

"Stiles!" Stiles bounded towards him. "Long time no see, tiger!" the man exclaimed as he pulled the teen into a tight hug. Scott tried not to growl.

"Dean, it's good to see you!" Stiles cried. The man, Dean, was tall with short, sandy brown hair, and, as far as Scott could tell, smelled like dirt and apple pie. Of course, if he thought Dean was tall, then he was in for a surprise when a giant came bumbling inside. If it was possible, Stiles' grin grew even wider. "Sam!" he screeched, crashing into him. The top of his head didn't even reach Sam's chin.

"Who's this?" Dean asked suddenly, effectively ruining the reunion, and raised his chin at Scott. The younger man narrowed his eyes.

"That's Scott! He was just leaving, weren't you, Scotty?" Stiles said, scurrying back and pushing Scott towards the door.

"Bye, Stiles. See you tomorrow," Scott said in a way that suggested they would be having words later. Stiles just hoped he would remember not to let anyone sneak into his house later.


	4. I Never Try to Catch You Lying

**Author's Note: I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and left a review. I really appreciate it!**

"You know I'm surprised we arrived so early. I didn't think we'd make it with all of the traffic coming into town. There was a road block," Sam said when they had settled into the house.

"They said there had been a wild animal attack, but I don't think you set up stops for that," Dean added, exchanging a look with Sam. Stiles went rigid. "Hey, no need to get so uptight about something like that, tiger. You've got us!" Dean laughed. Stiles smiled softly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The Sheriff, meanwhile, furrowed his eyebrows.

"No one was told to set up a road block today. I should let someone know," he said, standing up and moving to the door. "I'm sorry, but I should be back by dinner. You boys can catch up together. Stiles, show them around. Just be back before six." The three glanced at the clock. It was only four. As soon as the Sheriff was out the door, Sam and Dean focused in on Stiles.

"Do you remember what we told you when we were kids? That our dad hunted monsters?" Sam asked.

"Yeah? How could I forget something like that?" Stiles replied.

"Good because that's we do now," Dean said, green eyes flickering over Stiles' face as he tried to gauge his reaction.

"I know," he murmured. "I doubted you guys when I got older, but now..." he trailed off, afraid to give too much information. Dean leaned closer.

"What happened, Stiles? Did you see something? Look, Sam and I aren't just here for a visit. We think there are werewolves out here. Maybe you've seen one, out in the preserve. It would have been similar to a person but with a messed up face and some nasty looking teeth bulging out of its mouth. The whole horror movie image: fur, glowing red maybe yellow eyes." Or blue, Stiles thought. He knew what Dean was describing too well. He knew the flicker of inhuman irises. He recognized those teeth and the sensation of hot breath on his skin as they hovered over his wrist. He knew the sound of a monstrous howl.

"I've never seen anything like that," Stiles huffed, hoping to draw the attention away from werewolves. "There's other things out there though. Pixies, lizard monsters, etcetera."

"Are you telling us the truth, Stiles?" Sam asked. Stiles tried to control his breathing.

"There aren't any wolves in the preserve. There can't be. Not even werewolves," he exclaimed. He was hyperventilating now, feeling as if he couldn't suck enough air into his lungs. Within seconds Sam was on his knees in front of him. "Hey, Stiles, it's okay. Breathe. It's going to be alright. Stiles, I need you to breathe. Breathe in for me, okay? One. Two. Three. Now breathe out. One. Two. Three," he whispered, his large hands lightly grasping Stiles' arms. Dean sat beside the teen, gently rubbing his back. It felt like an eternity, but, eventually, Stiles started breathing regularly again.

"Sorry," he choked out. Dean pulled him into a hug. "I thought you hated chick flick moments," Stiles huffed when he had calmed down.

"This doesn't count," the elder Winchester ground out. Stiles grinned and straightened up.

"It totally counts," he argued, the subject of werewolves forgotten.

Later, the Sheriff walked in to find the three boys (for even Sam and Dean would always be boys to him) in the kitchen. Stiles stood at the sink, peeling potatoes and barking out orders. Sam, meanwhile, had donned a pair of red oven mitts and was crouched in front of the oven, trying to pull out a lasagna. Behind him, Dean was setting the table.

"I thought we were going out tonight?" the Sheriff asked.

"We thought it might be nice for us to have a night in, like when we were kids," Sam piped up as he placed the lasagna on the counter.

"Just us and the lasagna," Dean added.

"We can go out tomorrow night, Dad," Stiles said quietly. The Sheriff glanced at him, finding the Winchesters already hovering over his shoulders.

"Thank you boys for making dinner. It smells delicious," he said instead of the questions going through his mind. "Eating out is overrated. Stiles likes to keep tabs on my diet anyways!" he chuckled. Stiles snorted and he took it as a win. It served to relax Sam and Dean as well as they stepped back and settled around the table. He didn't know what had happened in his absence, but he knew that they were working to smooth it over where he couldn't.

Stiles sat down eventually too, after having mashed and warmed the potatoes. Dinner passed with no small amount of teasing and reminiscing. The conversation got rough only once when Sam managed to let it slip that their father was missing. After a thorough lecture and large set of promises from the Sheriff, they agreed that they would leave the matter alone. As far as they knew, having received a phone call from him a week earlier, John Winchester was safe. It was, however, decided that Sam and Dean would stay through the holidays. They, argued the Sheriff, deserved a normal holiday spent with family. He wouldn't take no for a answer.

After dinner, having washed the dishes and packed away the leftovers, Stiles pulled a set of comforters out of the closet for Dean, who would be sleeping on the couch during their stay. Sam would be sleeping in the guest room (he was too tall and his lower body hung off of the couch when he tried to lay on it), so he stumbled after Stiles up the stairs once Dean was settled.

Once in his room, Stiles fell face first into bed, not even bothering to change his clothes. He was exhausted, but in a pleasant way. His family was all around him in various stages of slumber. He was safe, they were safe, and nothing could change that. Perhaps that sense of security was why he didn't check his phone before he went to bed. That accounts for why he didn't see his missed calls from Derek or the texts from Scott. It might even account for why he didn't see the flash of blue eyes in the corner of his room.


	5. I Never Ask You Where You've Been

**Author's note: So once again, thank you guys for the reviews! Your responses keep this fic alive. I'm sorry that this is such a short chapter, especially after the length of the last one. Also, I realized after editing that Peter spends nearly all of this scene sitting on top of Stiles... Well he's not a creeperwolf for nothing. Oh well. Enjoy!**

Peter leaned back in Sties' desk chair, watching the teenager sleep. By now, the other pack would have arrived in Beacon Hills. They would assume that, despite their history, Peter would run to his nephew's pack, and thus they would confront the young alpha about it first. Derek had already figured out that Peter was in the territory, if Stiles' missed calls were anything to go by, but he hadn't gone in search of him. This was most likely because he was stuck dealing with the other pack. If he explained the past well enough, they would think that Peter was going to go after Derek and his little pack of mutts. It was almost a shame, how wrong they were.

Most teenage boys fantasized about waking up to a hot stranger on top of them. Stiles might have too if said hot strangers weren't always trying to kill him. Which is why he found himself flooded with fear when he woke up to find Peter Hale, of all people, straddling him, one hand wrapped around his throat. Peter tilted his head, waiting for a scream or a struggle, but Stiles merely peered up at him, body tense and pulse racing.

"Look at you. Turns out the boy who runs with wolves has been running with hunters for far longer," he chuckled. Stiles fixed him with a hard glare.

"I swear to god, if you touch them, I'll-"

"You'll what? Throw another Molotov cocktail at me? Why haven't you called them yet, anyways? I'm not an alpha anymore. I'm sure they could take me."

"I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"I'm touched. You seem to be the only one who thinks I'm still strong enough to take down a pair of hunters."

"They're not the ones I'm worried about. They can handle their own."

"Oh," Peter murmured, sitting back and letting his hand slip from Stiles' throat. "You're protecting the pack from them. You've chosen pack over family..." Stiles sat up on his elbows.

"You listen here, I'm not choosing anyone over anyone. I love them. They're my family, but I'd be damned if I let them kill any member of the pack," he snapped.

"So you're risking your own safety for theirs?" Peter asked.

"Who said my safety was being threatened?" The werewolf raised his eyebrows.

"Stiles, have you seen who you're sitting under?"

"Yeah and when did you become a pedophile, anyways?" Stiles countered. Peter might have rolled his eyes if it weren't for the sudden noise outside, which caused him instead to slap a hand over Stiles' mouth.

"They're outside," he whispered in response to Stiles' squeak.

"Who's outside?" the teen mumbled around his hand.

"Victoria's betas."

"Who?"

"I'll explain later. I'll help you if you help me. Understand?"

"What? What are you helping me with? What am I helping you with? What?"

Peter's eyes flashed blue and he jumped to the floor. "Lock your window. Take a shower and spray some air freshener. I'll be back." He walked out through Stiles' bedroom door. Stiles leapt up and stared at the empty hallway. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but it couldn't be anything good, so he pulled out his phone and dialed Derek.


	6. I've Never Called and Checked Your Story

Derek picked up on the second ring. "Where are you? I called you three times," he ground out.

"Didn't Scott tell you that-"

"You need to get here now!"

"Listen to me, Derek! We have a problem!"

"Yes, a problem going by the name of Peter Hale."

"That's not what I was talking about! Look, the pack isn't-"

"I don't have time for this, Stiles. I need you to do some research-"

"I am trying to talk to you! Look-"

"Now, Stiles!" Stiles clenched his fists.

"You don't get to order me around! I'm not even-"

"Who's that?" He glanced up to see Dean standing in his doorway.

"I... It's no one."

"Who's in there, Stiles?" Derek asked. Dean raised an eyebrow as the teen hung up the phone.

"Really? You're calling some guy at," he checked the clock, "two am?" Stiles swallowed.

"Uh, he has insomnia," he mumbled. Dean frowned.

"Well it sounded like a pretty heated discussion."

"He was tired... We both are. Hey, is it okay if we continue this conversation at a more decent hour? I'm sorry I woke you up. You should-" Stiles began only to clamp his mouth shut when he heard a crash from downstairs.

"Stay here," Dean ordered, bolting from the room. The instant he was gone, Stiles dove under his bed, pulling out a wooden box, which housed his steadily growing collection of wolfsbane soaked weapons. It contained everything from bullets to knives to nunchucks. With a pack of bullets and a knife in hand, he went after Dean.

Stiles rushed down the stairs. He could hear gunshots and shouts from the kitchen. By then, there was no way the noise hadn't awoken his father. The pounding upstairs only served to illustrate his fears.

Stiles skidded to a halt in the kitchen doorway. A young woman was leaning against the sink, blood leaking out of a bullet wound in her side. Stiles might have mistaken her for human if it wasn't for the yellow glow of her eyes. Her eyes locked onto him then and she lunged. Stiles tossed the pack of bullets towards Sam and raised the knife in front of himself. He fully expected the prick of teeth and claws, a bone-crushing blow as she bowled into him, but it never came.

Instead, Stiles found himself pushed out of the way, towards Sam. The younger Winchester caught him by his arms, staring at the figure behind him. Stiles could still hear the woman growling.

"Sam, get the packet from the floor," he said slowly. Sam's face pinched in confusion, but he bent to grab the box just the same. "Open it and switch out the bullets in your gun," he glanced at Dean, who stood beside them, "You too."

"Stiles, they need to be silver. These aren't going to work," Sam said.

"Silver doesn't work, these do," Stiles responded. The two hunters shared a look before proceeding to load their guns with Stiles' bullets.

"Stiles? Stiles! What's going on?" the Sheriff shouted. Stiles could hear him stomping down the stairs.

"Make sure she's the only one you shoot!" he ordered before running out of the kitchen. His father was in the living room, gun in hand. "Listen, Dad, you can't go in there. You most definitely cannot go in there. I know you're worried, but please just stay out of this one," he pleaded. A gunshot sounded from the kitchen.

"Sam, Dean, are you in there? What is going on? Are you boys okay? I'm coming in!" He tried to shove Stiles out of the way, but the teen pushed back against him. There was another shot and a curse. The Sheriff pushed Stiles to the side and barreled into the kitchen.

"Dad, no! Don't go in there!" Stiles yelled, leaping to his feet. The kitchen was eerily silent. "Dad? Sam? Dean?"

His father still stood in the entryway, staring. Sam was on the floor with a bloody arm, wide eyed. Dean sat beside him, white knuckles gripping his shoulder. To Stiles' surprise, Peter was standing next to them, staring out the window.

"When did you come back?" Stiles asked. Peter smirked at him.

"You're welcome for saving your life," he said. The Sheriff cleared his throat.

"You boys want to tell me what's going on?"


	7. I Didn't Want to Know the Truth

**Author's Note: Once again, thank you for reviewing, favoriting, and following! This chapter is pretty short, and not my best. It just wouldn't come out right. Hopefully the next one will be longer and better written. Also, I wonder if anyone has figured out where I'm getting my chapter titles from.**

Well, Dad, there's a conversation we need to have..." Stiles said. The Sheriff held up a hand.

"I'll deal with you later." He turned to Sam and Dean. "Are you boys hunting like your dad used to?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Stilinski?" Sam asked, getting to his feet.

"Werewolves, vampires, demons, I don't know. Are you hunting those things?"

"You knew?" The Sheriff smiled softly.

"Of course I knew. Claudia and I both knew. Who do you think patched John up all those times?" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "And now you boys are doing the same thing, and apparently my own son is involved too. God, I really hate this town," he murmured. Stiles stepped forward to touch his shoulder, only to jump back as the Sheriff swung his hand around to point at Peter. "Don't I know you?" Stiles went stiff. Peter, meanwhile, merely smirked and strode forward.

"Peter Padackle, werewolf hunter extraordinaire," he said with a little bow. Stiles fought the urge to snort. Sam scrunched up his face.

"Peter Padackle? That's a fake name. Why are we supposed to believe you anyways?" Peter's smile hardened into a grimace.

"Because I just saved Stiles' life," he growled. Dean seemed to take that as his cue to begin questioning Stiles.

"Aside from creepy monster man, how did you know the silver wouldn't work? Why didn't it work?" he inquired.

"Because silver is a myth. Wolfsbane is one of the few things that will really stop one," Peter cut in. Dean glared at him.

"Exactly. It's something you definitely need to have, especially when there's a strange pack slinking around town," Stiles said. "Which I'm guessing is your fault, isn't it Peter?" The werewolf grinned, all teeth.

"Clever boy."

"God, can you not be so creepy all the time? Stop that. Seriously, stop it."

"Okay! Can we please just get some sleep. That thing's not coming back right?" The Sheriff asked.

"No. She'll die. They'll hang back for a while, form a plan." Stiles responded. His father side-eyed him.

"And tomorrow morning we will discuss why you know that," he said. Stiles hung his head.

"Right."

"You got a place to stay, Pete?" Dean asked.

"I've got a pack of vengeful werewolves on my heels. Do you think I have a place to stay?" Peter bit out.

"Mr. Padacackie is staying on the couch," the Sheriff said. He squinted at him. "And if you try anything, I will kill you faster than that wolf would have."

"It's Padackle, and I prefer Peter."

"Whatever," Dean said.

"Let's just get to bed. Sam can stay with Dean or one of them can sleep in my room. Peter, there is a large collection of guns upstairs. Behave," Stiles ordered. Peter smirked.


	8. I Just Don't Want to Know How It Ends

_There were hands. Hands on his shoulders, on his throat, squeezing and shaking him. He heard shouts, no, screams; someone was screaming his name. He heard snarls. There were teeth and claws. Someone started shooting, but the wolves were too fast. They tore through flesh. He tried to run, but someone was still gripping his neck. He looked up and saw red eyes gazing back at him._

Stiles jerked awake in bed, zoning in on a pair of electric blue eyes from across the room. His heart pounded in his chest like that of a rabbit's, and he tried to scramble back against the headboard. Then, a pair of large hands grabbed his shoulders, and he snapped his head up to find Sam leaning over him.

"Hey, it's okay. You're safe, Stiles," he murmured, pulling the teen against his chest. "Nothing is going to hurt you as long as you're with us. Okay?" he asked, leaning back just far enough to look him in the eye. Stiles nodded shakily, shuffling closer to him. Dean appeared in front of him suddenly, holding a glass of water.

"Drink this," he said. "Your throat will be dry from the shouting." Stiles stared up at him. Had he been shouting?

"What did I say?"

"Nothing important. Just nonsense," Peter answered, raising an eyebrow in challenge. And seriously, what was up with Hales and eyebrows? Stiles took a sip of his water.

"Huh. I guess the fight earlier really got me, ha ha," he laughed. His hands were shaking, and his heart skipped a beat. Sam smiled tenderly at him.

"What did I say earlier?"

"That nothing would hurt me as long as you were around?"

"Stiles can protect himself, I'm sure," Peter snorted. Stiles glared at him. Sam's lips turned downwards.

"Everyone needs to be protected sometimes, maybe even you," he said. That had Stiles laughing outright. Peter scowled at him.

"No one needs to protect me."

"Then why are you hiding out in the Sheriff's living room?" Dean asked, his green eyes shining with mirth. Stiles laughed harder. For a brief moment, he forgot that it was Peter Hale standing in his bedroom. Peter Hale, who not so long ago had used Lydia for his own resurrection. Peter Hale, who, even before that, had kidnapped Stiles and offered him the bite. Peter Hale, who had gone insane and bitten Scott. A small part of Stiles pointed out that it was also Peter Hale, who had watched his family burn six years earlier. He quickly crushed the sympathy that came with that part. Peter was already staring at him, though, having sensed the change. In the end, he just sighed and left the room.

The Winchesters, unaware of the exchange, both chuckled and Stiles couldn't stop himself from joining in. No matter what happened, he wouldn't let himself lose them. He would figure it out, and he would protect what was his. Peter was right, Stiles didn't need protecting.

The next morning, the Sheriff sat at his table, sipping a cup of coffee, with Sam and Dean. After a few minutes of humming and swallowing, he set down his mug. Stiles was descending the stairs.

"Remember, he's stubborn," the Sheriff said quietly. The footsteps paused and the men in the room knew that Stiles had stopped by the couch, where Peter was sleeping.

"Wake up, I need your help." There was silence followed by a yelp. The Sheriff tensed.

"Yes or no?" a rough voice asked. Dean's trigger finger twitched.

"Stop making offers you can't follow through on," Stiles responded quietly.

"Hm, you're not afraid of me."

"Yeah kind of hard to be scared when you're crashing on my couch with bed head and a scratchy voice. Now get up and help me." There was a quiet groan and then stomping feet as Stiles and Peter arrived in the kitchen, Stiles carrying a cardboard box.

"Okay," he said, dropping the box onto the table, "You want to know about my involvement in the supernatural, so here I am. Let's get this over with." The Sheriff raised his eyebrows, glancing at Sam and Dean.

"The truth," he said. Stiles sighed and slumped into the chair beside his father. Peter, meanwhile, slunk over to the coffee pot.

"I guess you can say that it all starts with Peter." The clinking of mugs and quiet sips stopped abruptly. "Hey, calm down, you can kill him later. Not now." Peter coughed in the background. "Look, he wasn't in his right mind. He recruited a friend of mine against his will, and by definition, he recruited me as well. We spent a lot of time looking for him, and we ran into some other hunters along the way. Peter went batshit crazy for a while, but we put a stop to that. It's kind of hard to turn away from the supernatural after that, especially if you live in Beacon Hills," Stiles finished, twisting around to glance at the older man.

"First of all, I'm much better now. No more recruiting rowdy teenagers," he said.

"Now you said that your friend was involved. This friend wouldn't happen to be Scott, would it?" the Sheriff asked.

"You don't know who it is, and I'm not at liberty to say," Stiles responded. Only Peter heard the stutter in his heartbeat, although even those without werewolf hearing recognized the lie.

"I thought we agreed to tell the truth," the Sheriff said.

"And Stiles is telling as much of it as he can," Peter replied. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, earning a shrug in response.

"If it helps, I've been lying to you to protect you," Stiles said. His father sighed.

"Stiles, it's my job to protect you."

"And even if you couldn't tell your dad, why couldn't you come to us?" Sam asked. Stiles wanted to tell them the truth. He wanted to tell them that he couldn't call them because he knew that they would try to kill his friend. He wanted to tell them that most werewolves weren't all that bad. He wanted to tell them many things. Instead, he shook his head and remained silent


	9. You Could Never Be True

"So, you gonna show us what's in that fancy little box of yours?" Dean asked. Stiles nodded and pulled the lid off the box. Inside, there were four knives, one pair of nunchucks, two more packs of bullets, eight arrows, one hand-grenade, a miniature blowtorch, a ziploc baggie full of wolfsbane, and one more bag filled with mistletoe.

"I assume you're the reason he has all this, right?" the Sheriff asked, glancing at Peter.

"Where it came from isn't important," Stiles snapped, replacing the lid. "We're not using any of this stuff anyways. We don't need it."

"Well if its gonna kill the werewolves, then we sure as hell better be using it," Dean said.

"I'm sure Derek's taking care of it," Stiles said, only to snap his jaw shut a second later. "I-I mean someone. Someone's taking care of it." Sam leaned closer.

"Who's Derek, Stiles?" he asked. Stiles clacked his mouth open and shut.

"My nephew," Peter put in. "He's another hunter." He risked a glance at Stiles, who nodded.

"Y-yeah," he stammered. The Sheriff looked between them.

"I thought we had agreed that you would tell me everything, Stiles. Is this why Derek was always crawling into your room?" he asked. Peter raised an eyebrow. Stiles felt his face heat up.

"That's the guy you were talking to last night, when the werewolf broke in," Dean said. Peter turned fierce blue eyes to Stiles. The teen gulped.

"I... Y-yeah... Derek knew what was going on and he wanted to ask me about it," he said slowly.

"Right, that's why he was asking you to sneak out in the middle of the night." The Sheriff slammed his fist onto the table. Stiles jumped. He glanced at Peter, hoping for some kind of backup, but there older man refused to meet his gaze.

"Stiles..." His father breathed out.

"Yes?"

"How long have you two been," he waved a hand about. Stiles cocked his head.

"How long have we been what?"

Peter snorted. "How long have you been sleeping with my nephew?" Stiles spluttered, throwing his hands up and jerking backward.

"I'm not sleeping with Derek! I'm a virgin!" he cried. He didn't need to look at Peter to know that he was smirking. The Sheriff rubbed his temples.

"How long have you been seeing him then?"

"I'm not!" Stiles was bright red by now. His hazel eyes were wide as they flickered between his father's. The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. The wrinkles around his eyes were more prominent like that, making him seem older.

"Stiles," he said, "I thought we were done with the lies..." He stood up. "I have work in an hour. I'm going to get ready. Sam, Dean, keep an eye on him." With that, he was gone, trudging up the stairs to his bedroom. Stiles crossed his arms, glaring at the table.

"I'm not in a relationship with Derek," he grumbled. He knew that a werewolf would detect a hint of disappointment under his anger, but he didn't care. Even if Peter did tell Derek, the man wouldn't care. He didn't have time for that.

"But you would tell us if you were, right?" Sam asked. Stiles glanced up.

"Considering how everyone reacted based on an accusation? No, no I wouldn't tell you," he said. It was the truth, after all. Sam cringed.

"You know he's not mad about preference," he said softly. Stiles leaned back until his head smacked the top of his chair.

"I know I know. He's just..."

"Mad that it's Derek of all people?" Peter suggested. Stiles wrinkled his nose.

"What, you got a better option?" Peter grinned at him and gestured at himself.

"Of course I do. Me," he said. Stiles laughed.

"Right because my dad, who couldn't stand the thought of me dating Derek Hale, would feel so much better if I dated his much older uncle."

"I'm just saying it's a suggestion." Sam and Dean glanced at each other then back to the pair in front of them. Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam shrugged. Maybe the Sheriff should be wary of the Hales and his son after all.


End file.
